


Haunted

by Nevi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blood Mage(s) - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3381371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevi/pseuds/Nevi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death is her shadow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Inquisition. Warden Alistair. Set after Here Lies the Abyss. Previously part of a collection.

She is afraid of dying.

It seems odd with the way she constantly runs headlong into danger. 

But death is the demon that whispers in her ear and torments her in the fade and she, despite her fear is the harbinger of it. Oh how many souls had she sent to the maker, their blood painting her armour: fifty, a hundred, a thousand?

She is death’s servant and she hopes that as long as she keeps bringing it souls, it will let her keep hers.

But the nightmares had begun to grow stronger, the singing in her blood louder.

And she is afraid.

_She remembers laying on the cold ground. Blood seeping into the dirt, caking in her eyelashes as she watches her companions fall one by one. She knows the magic in blood. She remembers the taste as it rolled along her tongue and choked her breath._

_She remembers fear._

_She remembers the Hurlock’s great sword, and a sharp glint of moonlight as it swings towards her prone form..._

_She remembers being in the tower, curled next to Jowan in the library and they are laughing._

_She remembers Jowan in chains._

_She remembers a ghost that asks her questions she doesn’t answer._

_She remembers fear._

Fear is what keeps her moving; she wishes it was nobler than that.

She is no hero. _(despite what they say)_

There is magic in blood, magic she can feel when it coats her fingers in its crimson power.

She does not think.

She acts.

_And when the last darkspawn falls she stares with wild eyes across the battle field, blood coating her features, her armour, in a ghastly painting of triumph, and when she uses that spilled blood to heal and mend her fallen companions she does not regret her choice._

Her blood sings.

The song is getting stronger; she can almost make out the words. A lullaby to coax her to sleep.

She is afraid of dying.

So she searches, searches, searches... books and libraries and for those who should not be. She looks for clues to stop the singing, to stop the nightmares. Then her friend, her _sister_ points her in a direction and she goes.

She will stop the singing before for chorus starts.

_She remembers a night in a castle, the heath warm and a dark promise. She remembers using her forked tongue to sway another for her benefit._

She does not wish to die.

But dark promises hold dark secrets and still she wonders about the deals she made that night.

The fire is not enough to keep off the chill when the letter arrives, sealed with the mark of the inquisition. How they found her she is not certain.

_She remembers the lopsided smile of a young templar, she remembers being able to colour his cheeks pink with mere words. She remembers demons and blood and a broken circle, a broken mind._

Her fingers trace the looping signature at the bottom for a long time before she reads the document.

It’s a heavy thing this thing in her chest, the heart turned to stone, crushing her breath from her lungs. The letter is in the fire and she cannot see as it burns, the ashes carried on the wind, dotting the sky like stars. She cannot see past the wet burn building in her eyes.

_She remembers a rose. She remembers another young templar. She remembers.... she remembers...._

She remembers fear. She knows sorrow

She is alone.

_She is alone._

Curse her blighted blood, curse the singing in her veins, curse her fear.

She is afraid of dying. _(Andraste preserve me)_

She leaves her stone heart in the fire, another coal to blacken the earth and mark her existence.

She’ll continue East, North, South, and West into the green hills and snow-capped peaks; till the ocean meets her feet and the deep roads meet her back. Maybe then she will finally be too tired to be afraid, too tired to remember fear.

Maybe then the song will have reached the chorus, a lullaby too sing her to sleep.

She is afraid of dying.

She is afraid of living.


End file.
